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P h a r c e
. . - ishue numbah wun - . .
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
. _\|I N T R O|/_ .
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
"465 lines of pure aerosol cheese"
I've come to the conclusion that the only people on this Earth
that are really themselves are certifiably insane, i am among them, and
chances are, you are too. so sit back, and wriggle around in your
straight-jacket until you get comfortable, and don't let the buckle
press against the growth on your back that looks oddly like another
head. to read this zine, you really have to be open minded. i know
people always preach that their zine is different, so, just to be
different, i won't, instead i'll send you subliminal messages.
question that i get asked a lot is "what is pharce about", and,
after a perplexed few seconds, i came up with a decent answer.
"pharce is like the dictionary, it's about everything and nothing
at the same time". but i think it's good, and i have some talented
writers and artists working on this thing... that is, if they'd
ever turn their work IN... anyway, this first issue is chocked
full o' some tasty morsels, and i think you'll enjoy reading it,
and if you don't, try velcroing yourself to the ceiling naked and
upside down, you'll look at it in a completely different way.
=------------------------------------------------------------------------=
_\| -.-Pharce News-.- |/_
=------------------------------------------------------------------------=
Pharce NEWS!? how can pharce have news when pharce itself is new!?
well, pharce isn't really new. i thought up the concept in the beginning
of the summer, started coding the viewer (which will be out as soon as
i fix my computer), and when my computer got fried, i kinda had to
start again. shit happens, eh? just seems to happen to me more often
than not.
Well, most of this zine so far was done a while back but due to the complete
laziness of myself, i never finished/released it. but now we have the
backing of the talent in Mortal, so that gave me a bit of a kick in the
ass.
As with any zine though, we are starting at the lowest rung of the ladder,
and we must painfully, and through much criticism, work our way to the
top, so if you have anything you want to say, mail your suggestions to
me (traq) at milletcd@wilkes.edu, or elendil.
)( --BUTT KISSING SECTION-- )(
Special thanks to elendil also for facilitating me with the means to get this
zine back and going. this issue may not be as full as future issues are
going to be, but it's out.
number lines title by whom type
---.----------------.-----------------.-----------------------.------------
I. 14-36 Intro traq
II. 38-98 pharce news traq
1. 114-202 Nobody God traq short
2. 166-218 Acidic Society drastik po3m
3. 224-288 escape lethe editorial
4. 292-373 Poem Colly traq -----
5. 377-432 The Time of Seeing traq parable
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
. _\| nobody god |/_ .
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
he knew he had power, he knew he had control of the ill-tempered,
mindless beings that strode through the dank hallways of his suburban
high school. the same mindless that would laugh and taunt him, and throw
hard chewed pieces of candy in his hair, and push him into the flailing
arms of the cute little girl he liked, only for him to look back down at
the floor, and mutter a pitiful apology, and curse. he knew they'd get
their own, in the end... in the end.
they called him robbie, when they bothered at all to use his name.
even the teachers sometimes didn't know his name, but that all didn't
matter to them. he was not there. they would go on teaching their class,
and never would they cast a curious eye on him and think to ask robbie if
he knew the answer. of course he did, he knew all the answers, but they
didn't know that. they didn't know anything. even the smart ones knew
nothing, they knew less than all because they were the least willing to
admit they knew nothing. robbie knew they knew nothing because he knew
everything, and that was everything more than they would ever learn.
robbie knew that one cannot see when one's eyes are sewn shut, humanity
the seamstress, and humility the chosen fiber.
robbie observed. he understood that no one worshipped him any
longer, and thus they had reached the pinnacle of what they were capable
of. even the ones that made a life out of superstitious prayers and
rhymed garble, and ritual and bowing and nodding and t.v. evangelism,
they who claimed to devote their life to robbie, they didn't see him
really. they saw the idea of robbie, but robbie at one time would bother
to stand and say "i am here! i am robbie!" and they would push him
aside. robbie didn't have beams of life-light beaming from his
eye-sockets, that hurt too much. he didn't descend from the heavens.
robbie didn't even know what the heavens were, beyond a figment of a
desperate people's fantasy salvation. robbie lived on 53rd and Broadway,
not on a throne in some dirty, smoggy cloud somewhere. his apartment
wasn't even that nice, full of bad ideas, and lost causes.
robbie built. robbie was good with his hands and built things in
in his own likeness. another thing that puzzled robbie was that people
knew this, that robbie made things that bore resemblance to him, to his
pimply face and underdeveloped calves, thick glasses and a head that
just seemed like it couldn't fit more than a ten minute lecture on
ideology in it without busting, yet people still expected robbie to be
shiny and big. a couple people once thought that he threw thunderbolts.
people watch too much t.v. robbie sat and molded his clay and thought.
he thought about things he had done wrong. it was a dreadful thing.
robbie was only human, what did he expect? he knew all that one could
know, yet still he made mistakes. he thought this intolerable that of
all people to be a screw-up, he was the big-daddy of em' all.
the wind whistled through robbie's mop hair-do, and crept down the
shroud he wore, making him shiver slightly. still he climbed ever further
up the ladder, and when he got to the top of the building, he threw
himself over the final rung, stumbled a bit, very ungracefully... he
fruitlessly regained his composure, stepped to the edge where he peered
upon creation in all its unglory. the people looked liked ants from up
here, he thought. he hated that expression, it was one of the little
flaws of mankind to make silly cliches like that. robbie knew them all.
robbie knew all the ants, that's all they were, ants. but robbie knew
them. he knew he was supposed to love them all, they expected nothing
less, but he found this the most difficult part of his job. he spit
and a big glob landed on a pedestrian's head. he looked up but saw
nothing, and kept walking, fusterated and wildly wiping his bald head
in disgust. rain.
robbie thought about what would happen to these 'ants' if he jumped.
would they simply cease to exist? would they go on living with only a
superficial metaphorical theological bruise? would they know that now
death for them would be the end-all, not the see-all, a simple stutter
in the loop of life. would they continue to stand in front of their
idles, their symbols and icons, their crosses and buddha's, and ask
robbie to forgive them for the shit they did. would the 'believers'
cry and fall to their knees? No. No, they would not. behind their
clouded ideas of existence, and territorialism and materialism, they
would not miss robbie. robbie would not go on to something more like
they all thought they would. robbie would simply not be there any
longer, and the street-sweeper would wash away the mess on the sidewalk,
and the starving undomesticated animals would feed on the rest, and then
go home and watch their talk shows. an old wizened man, sitting in his
old broken chair, would open the paper, and see a small article, buried
among the small articles, and maybe he would shed a single tear, a tear
which would be remains of an old, broken idea.
robbie hit the ground with a thud.
. . . .traq. . . .
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
- Acidic Society -
--------------------------------------------------------------------------
Life is such a mystery
Everyone just plays the game
of life. Everyone falls prey
to society's fucked-up rules.
Competition between the social
classes :AKA: Levels of life ....
True Immortality is being able
to sit back and watch with a grin
as everyone role-plays in reality.
But what is reality? You'll never
know until you reach the level
where the game is no longer a game
but a never-ending maze. Humans are
just pawns, pawns in a sub-reality
of reality. And it starts over..
There is really no end to the maze..
The only real end to the maze of life
is death itself. But what is death?
It could just be the beginning of the
fucked up labyrinth of life AGAIN!.
Societies fucked up rules keep most
souls trapped in the labyrinth of life,
One big war with each other for nothing
What do you get for falling victim to
the game?,.. Nothing but reality. Once
you no longer fall prey to the scouring
vultures of society, you finally understand
life. Inner peace and harmony are the most
important things there is in reality. But
reality is only an illusion until you reach
a level where you can understand and not
understand the same thing. Reality itself is
a illusion ... A hall of mirrors, just waiting
to be thrashed by the one rock that destroys
all peace and harmony, And once that Hall of
Reality is smashed, .... another one takes its
place, ... to complete the circle of life. I am
truly immortal for being able to sit on that
"higher plane" and watch as the pawns fight to
get out of the maze first, The social war begins
...... Yet I am also a victim for playing "a" role
in the fake sub-reality of social life.........
The End
Composed on 800mics ( 4 hits ) of LSD
By : NeuroManceR ( IRC: Drastik )
eBoLA / Pharce | prez / writer
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
.˙˙˙. escape .˙˙˙.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------
we are, as a generation, the first really unique group of young people
since the 60's. the 60's were dominated by sex, drugs, rock and roll, and
some other cliche's, and i can't help wondering how that came about,
considering that we are seemingly heading in the same direction. in the 60's,
probably the dominating influence on young people's attitudes was vietnam, a
shitty war (don't get pissed off at me if your daddy fought there) that we
ultimately ended up "losing" the point is, during this whole shit-eating era,
the kids were getting shipped off to get killed in some foreign country, and
that pissed us off. so, in a desperate attempt to show everyone else that
they were opposed to the whole idea, they all became rebels and began smoking
oregano and wearing bell-bottoms neato, and when the war ended, the real
end came when disco and leisure suits came into fashion . anyway,
we're in the nineties now, duh, but were in the same situation. everyone
seems to be on some rebellion or another. rebellion against their parents,
against each other, against their government. if any generation was capable
of anarchy, it'd be ours. everyone, EVERY single fuqnut i know smokes weed
up the ass like there's no tomorrow, and feels he's trying to prove something,
along with the occasional beer party on friday night, followed by the
customary hangover on sat. warded off by a hit on the ol' glass 4' bong.
everywhere you turn there's someone dousing their problems with something.
some kiddie here dies last year sniffing WD40. wtf is that!? and i live in
the boonies, i can't imagine what's happening elsewhere. kids trying to get
high sniffin' each other's assholes? could be, never rule that kinda thing
out. so, what's at the heart of the matter? why are we all slowly wasting
away? is this just a cycle that recurs every once in a while. a little bit
of God saying "stop fucking up so much, or it'll be worse next time"? nah,
that's the easy approach for religous fanatics, psychiatrists, and Bill
Richard Dick Clinton. only we know what's wrong, and if you don't know, i'll
let you in on the secret... life as we know it SUX. all the conservative
bureaucrat have poisoned our society with a bug they farted out called
"every-man, woman, and child-for-yourself" scary? i think it is, and i'm
willing to bet it gives you all the willies too. so what are we doing about
it? i mean, that is the logical thing to do, right? solve the problem.
nah, we're too lazy. not just you, me too. i see these little commercials
on the tele that say bullshit like "don't do drugs, be a teacher, murder is
bad, help your community, blah blah blah..." and i get a good laugh.
it just doesn't happen that way. instead, we flip the station, and get high
with captain kangaroo and sat. morning cartoons. what are WE DOING? we are
escaping. it's the EASY way out, and it's the path of least resistance.
no one gives a shit about us, they really don't. i think adults today are
just going to live to be 120, just so we never come to power. well, that just
might happen , but in the meantime, is this existence worth pulling
ourselves out of the gutter for? i think so. there is a point that all the
freebies run out, and we're left here, "who me, worry?" yeah you jerky. how
many pot-heads does it take to run a country? write me in bolivia when it
comes to that. i'm trying to escape just as much as anyone else, except i
know when we are getting to the point that some "generation-x authors" such
as myself term 'the do-nothing' or 'don't care' generation.
shut off the flashy neon "HELP ME!" sign on your head, don't panic.
ask not what your country can do for you, because all the money and patience
has run out. ask yourself what you can do for you, for us, for the 90's
kiddies out there who haven't seen truth as maybe now you will.
look at life in a different way. don't complain. words alone won't
get you anywhere. it's no secret that the system is dicking us over,
and it's also no secret that we're not helping the matter either.
ACT. enlighten yourself and others. spread the word that there's
a new generation of thinkers out there who don't want violence,
don't want racism, and are tired of seeing their peers blowing their
heads off because it was the only way to escape.
˙.˙˙lethe˙˙.˙
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
loss and coffee
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
a man walked up to me
in the restaurant where I was
drinking coffee by myself
I had noticed him staring at me
from the pay-telephone
on the other wall
when he approached
he asked me if he knew me
I said "obviously not".
"perhaps once, in the desert,
we were acquaintances?"
"I am afraid that the desert
in which I live is small and in much disarray.
I doubt if in it we could ever have met."
"I am certain that at one time we were brothers."
"my friend", I said, "acquaintances
die with the loss of their memory
memories die with the loss of mind
and the mind dies
with the loss of acquaintances.
come, sit and have a coffee".
[traq]
-------------------------------------------------------------------------
strangers pass
-------------------------------------------------------------------
the pain is slender and deep,
it worked its way there
with cunning,
unknowing as it be, (no doubt)
however
unwelcome fear
which neurosis has left me
blind to this attack?
a passing stranger in his
IGNORANCE
assists the blade
in piercing the most vital
of organs. my head
aches.
blood mixed with saliva
works its way over the bulge
of my lip
to my chin
but no one hears
the stranger passes.
[traq]
----------------------------------------------------------------------------
good-bye
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
I came today,
to say goodbye...
I burnt my tongue (while losing you)
can i ever taste
your water (pure) again?
with you, despise you
without, more
I want/HATE you!
but you're gone,
any you don't know,
didn't know while,
don't know now
while i smoke the cliche cigarette
that you WERE me,
and i am not me, no longer...
again i am alone
even her by my side we are one
still alone
and she'll be gone
still alone
more will see my company,
and fade you will
surfacing as barside stories,
and weeping nostalgic episodes
as a shell of what you once were, me.
I turn and kiss her and fall asleep,
with a smile
no more paper, story's over... good bye, love.
. ˙ ˙ ˙ . ˙ ˙ ˙ . ˙ ˙ ˙ ˙
˙ this is the time of seeing... part I
˙
. the human mind is a very complex thing. many million
˙ years evolution has not only shaped our minds, but formed our
˙ consciousness, twisted it from primitive instinct-based thoughts
to highly-organized problem-solving abilities, yet the world has
˙ not changed greatly. the mind in its desire to expand and evolve
saw fit to close its metaphorical "eye" on selected images in the
˙ harsh, unrelenting world around us. you see, in the past few days,
˙ i have discovered that our world is... much more evil
. than we tend to let ourselves believe. What we consider
. too hideous and grotesque to actually occur in our world doesn't
˙ necessarily NOT happen, but our mind closes itself off. seeing
all components of life as it really exists would flood our mind
˙ with information completely intolerable to the human psyche. so the
. situation which our path to become human has been facilitated by
˙ is our blindness. until recently...
˙
. i live in the "bad" part of New York. that is to say, one of the
˙ few places in this country where people actually choose to accept
˙ that things are truly going to shit. except that they limit this
phenomena so discretely to a few sordid scumholes like my
˙ neighborhood that they often overlook the fact that their
neighborhood is just as bad. see, it's not the big guns and cheap
˙ drugs dragging poor minorities through life with a taught leash, or
˙ rape and abortion or spilled milk, spilled blood; these things
. permeate all walks of life. it's not the oppression of a government
. who's concerns lie solely in saving its own ass without regard for
˙ the people whom its decisions slowly weaken, only for the quick fix
it supplies. sure all these things exist, and for the most part,
˙ they always will. these are all the frilly things. these are only
. the fringes of what is really going on in the sublevels of the
˙ consciousness, where concrete objects don't necessarily exist, yet
˙ whose ideas are just as jagged. this is the part of us that sleeps.
. it is purely animal, and it knows no bounds. it has no concern for
˙ life, for life has no concern for it. like i said though, it has,
˙ for many millennia lay dormant under layers of survivalism and this
ill-constructed idea of peace that this misguided species has dreamed
˙ up to protect our fragile mindsets, surfacing only very seldomly to
shatter our disbelief, lashing out and destroying millions of
˙ victims in war, or the singular terror of a violent serial murderer,
˙ then silently, passively it would sleep again, content in its brief
. wake. yet recently, these very mindsets have begun to crumble.
. the sleeper has become restless, and it wants to peer into its new
˙ playground. it is now so happy to see that even without its aid,
˙ we have done much work to masticate our own well-being into the cud
˙ in which it will easily bring to the brink of complete hell.
. the apocalypse is upon us, my friend, and our blindness for so long
˙ has left us quite unprepared for the battle we must now fight, but
˙ the opening of our eyes is also our strength, even if it happens one
. guilt-laden eyelid at a time. this is the time of taking
. responsibility for damage rendered. this is the time of seeing...
˙˙˙˙
˙ ..traq.. ˙
˙˙˙˙
----------
şNOTICE!
----------
we are in serious need of good writers. if you have been
looking for a constructive end to your writing, looking for
a medium for your work to be distributed, or dissatisfied
or generally not feeling very loyal to your current group :)
please drop me some e-mail and an a small sample of your
writing, and chances are you'll gain a spot in the Pharce
community. milletcd@wilkes.edu
----------
!ECITONş
----------
neeb evah uoy fi .sretirw doog fo deen suoires ni era ew
rof gnikool ,gnitirw ruoy ot dne evitcurtsnoc a rof gnikool
deifsitassid ro ,detubirtsid eb ot krow ruoy rof muidem a
(: puorg tnerruc ruoy ot layol yrev gnileef ton yllareneg ro
ruoy fo elpmaxe llams a na dna liam-e emos em pord esaelp
ecrahP eht ni tops a niag ll'uoy era secnahc dna ,gnitirw
moc.nosirpgnuorgrednu.esuohetihw@vehcabrog .ytinummoc
(!oot sthgir evah sredaer cixelsyd)
SAUCE00pharce #1 - released by traq traq pharce/mOrtal 19960802}a P